I am so farking tired right now it isn’t even funny. It is my own fault too.
A couple nights ago I was reading a book and I stayed up way past my bedtime, and thus went to work on less than three hours of sleep. After a ten-hour day on the job I was exhausted and cursing myself for being so stupid. So, last evening when I got home, I ate a small dinner and set off to bed at 8:30pm with every intention of catching up on rest. But I have a compulsion, unless I am wildly intoxicated (and even sometimes then) I cannot go to sleep without reading something, anything for a little while before hand. Since I only had a few chapters left in the book I had been reading, I resolved to finish that.
I finished the book, but found myself wanting even more. Being a fool, I picked up the sequel of the book (which I had bought at the same time, because sometimes you just have a feeling about these things) and began reading that. Well, I fucking finished the book last night, leaving me with less than two hours of sleep when I started my ten-hour day this morning.
I can barely even see straight right now, which is a little depressing when I think about it. In high school I could go roughly forty hours without sleep before it really started to confuse or disable me in any way. On one memorable occasion, after several days of writing I had been awake for forty-six hours and I promptly walked straight into a pole in my school. I saw the pole, registered that I was walking towards it, and even thought to myself that I should slow down, change direction, or stop. It took far too long for those thoughts to finish processing in my mind and as a result I took a whack on my face from the pillar and found myself giggling, barely capable of saying anything besides, “Walked into a pole…”
This is not as bad as that, but I suspect that when I read this post tomorrow, it will be desperately in need of spelling and grammar corrections. But you get it today in its unadulterated form. Cheers.